Worth It
by sweetprincipale
Summary: From pre-series to post-series, the five members of the Leverage family reflect on why and how they have waited to find love. All perspectives are very different, but they all have one common factor- the wait was worth it. Canon pairings, Eliot is single, but still shares his thoughts. Mainly a happy, reflective piece with some poignant parts.


**Worth It**

 **by Sweetprincipale**

 _From pre-series to post series, the five members of the Leverage family reflect on why and how they have waited to find love. All perspectives are very different, but they all have one common factor- the wait was worth it._

 _Author's Note: My very first EVER Leverage piece, so please be understanding and patient. And if you review, be kind, ;)_

 _Author's Second Note: I know the tense and POV shifts by section and sometimes within section. Sometimes the sections have dialogue, sometimes not. That was how it went in my head, so it was how I wrote it._

 _Author's Final Note: I am not abandoning my other pieces or fandom, just taking a walk in a different one, so anyone waiting for other pieces to get updated, please don't panic._

 _Dedicated to: AGriffenWriter, WriterDragonfly, SerenelyStrange, and AdelePaker who gave me courage to try something new and Leverage-y._

 _Nothing of Leverage belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine._

* * *

Sophie has been waiting more than a decade now. She thinks she's been waiting ever since the second time he chased her. (The first time she knew he was good, annoyingly good, but she couldn't appreciate it.) She almost let herself get caught- because of him. But she waited, not knowing then that was what she was doing, just accepting he was a married man who gave good chase. Sometimes the foreplay is better than the denouement, after all.

Then she was saddened to hear that he lost his only child, then his beautiful wife was lost to him, not in death, in the failure to ride out pain, grief, and far, far too much alcohol. Sophie hated herself for years after the news reached her. She had a fortune in artwork, waiting for the right fence, and as attached as she was to them, she would have happily sold half of them to bring back Nathan Ford, by paying for his son's treatment, healing the boy, letting his father resume the game, the chase. The fact that no one knew about the experimental treatment that his insurance refused to pay for until Ford quit and the boy was buried doesn't matter to her. She feels she waited too long that time, whereas all the other times she tells herself to wait a bit longer, even if it hurts.

Sophie especially loves the clients they meet (it's been women both times) who are waiting for their men to get out of prison, both on false charges. Nate's charges are all genuine, but he still doesn't deserve prison, he deserves help, deserves freedom, needs to let the chains fall. She knows those clients' better than mere intuition and years of grifting would ever allow. They might be tempted or frustrated or bloody annoyed, and she knows they're sad with hurting hearts- but they wait. Her man is in a prison of his own, usually one made of glass. Should be easily shattered, but instead it's just refilled. When he goes to an actual prison, she still waits, former opponent turned ally and friend, former surface relationship now has a foundation of layers, as if every day they are on the same side helps these damn feelings put down roots.

She waits for him, and she waits for herself, too. She wants all of Nathan Ford, but she only wants to give him one piece of herself. Sounds selfish, but Sophie knows it is actually the most priceless gift she has. She has so many versions of herself floating about the world, and in her head, and all of them love Nathan Ford. She knows that she is splintered, not whole, just a surprisingly good actress, better than any of them realize. She is a jeweled necklace with one flawed but true stone, and dozens of perfect but fake gems. She's known Nate long enough to know he wants and deserves only genuine articles. She won't be content to give him a forgery, no matter how well done. So she waits for him to be truly free, and for her to be truly herself (when not on a job, obviously), and all that's left is making "he" and "she" a "they".

She waits until them being "them" isn't just an extension of the team, or some added dimension to comfortable friendship. She waits until he wants her. The real her, bruised and not nearly as polished on the inside as the outside. Wants her for him, for Nate, not a mastermind building a boxed set that has a slot marked "grifter". She wants him to realize that she wants him, too. Flawed but real, and to be sure he gets it. Sophie waits until he's in love with all of her, and loves her as well. She's very practiced with the difference between love and in love, and she wants both.

Sophie waits. She knows one day, it will all be worth it.

* * *

Nate knows that he will never, ever find, want, or need a substitute for Sophie- also called Jenny, Charlotte, Lara, Annie, and he's stopped counting and listing now. But he knows why he waited.

He was tempted from the third time he saw her- the first two times he was too busy being frustrated that her skills were maybe a _hair_ better than his own, and she was one step ahead, too slick for him to catch- not that he would ever admit it out loud. But that third time- those skills, those sharp wits, and that beautiful, alluring package they were wrapped in- it was necessary to remind himself forcefully that being tempted is just that, a temptation. You never act on it. He was happy to chase her, to play this game of thieve's chess. He waits out the silly, base urge to catch her for himself, because you do not throw away a beautiful woman that is your friend, your colleague, your wife, and the mother of your child. He guiltily wonders after she evades him the fourth time if he fails to catch her so they can keep playing.

Then Sam got sick and he is consumed with a whole different sort of waiting. For blood test results, for second, third, tenth opinions, for treatment plans and options, for days when he can come home, for days when he comes to visit, for days when he and Maggie might talk to each other again, without every sentence being about Sammy. About how their son is fighting, and how he is losing.

Waiting for payments to clear. The house's second mortgage to go through and the money to clear and to get a loan, and to sell both cars, and to still force himself to go to work to keep making money to help his little boy, when all he really wants to do is sit next to him all day. Waiting for chances to read books to him, to show him baseball cards from his collection, maybe listen to music, some great, jazzy, brassy trumpet music that would put smiles on both their faces.

Waiting for claims to be appealed, fought, denied, fought again, appealed again, and ultimately rejected. Waiting for the right moment to tell Maggie, but it never comes. The Angel of Death comes, and the bastard passes right over him, and slips through the glass window that he's frantically screaming outside, and takes his boy away.

He waits for the pain to stop. It never, ever does. He waits for his marriage to heal. It never, ever, did. He waits for the divorce to get finalized and waits until he loses the taste for liquor, or his patience with the hangovers the next morning. The divorce goes through, but the rest sticks. Can't shake it. He waits to drink himself to death. He's going to catch that reaper by the end of his long scythe and hitch a ride to Sammy.

He must have a cast-iron liver. He must have a pretty decent brain. They both keep working, and the only difference is he's a little more direct and sloppy. And bored. God, he's so bored. Alcohol ought to kill boredom, but it doesn't. Even the first job he takes, out of desperation, out of a need for vengeance, and sheer, blinding boredom- is just a break between boozing- until he needs Sophie. Then he feels like he's waking up. He's planning again, he's on the hunt, the chase, the chessmen are waging war again- and he has the most beautiful black queen on his side, her dress changed to white as easily as his armor goes dark.

Nate waits until he's sure neither of them will switch sides anymore. He can't get hurt again. He doesn't know if he's able to even stop hurting, himself or others. And that's not fair to Sophie. She may be Machiavellian with her marks at times, but she manages to be one of the sweetest, most intelligent, sultry, seductive women at the same time. He waits until he's sure it's not giving into temptation, it's making a choice. He waits until he can tell- okay, until he can _believe_ \- that she wants him, when she's gorgeous enough and clever enough to have anyone else. Then he stops waiting, and takes a victory after a year long battle against Moreau and a very, very large bottle of very, very good champagne, and remembers life is too short to wait for everything to be perfect. He asks the one and only Sophie Devereaux to bed. He knows there are no substitutes. He doesn't care if it's not one hundred percent the way he wants it. It can wait. One day he'll deal with his demons, she'll drop her masks, and that- that'll be something worth waiting for- if she'll wait for him, that is.

* * *

Hardison hated waiting. Hacking is instant gratification, baby. Need money- boom, we got that, need the red light to turn green, boom, we got that too. Getting the newest iPhone before it's even out of the R&D door, tickets to any sci-fi premier he wants, exclusive cuts, lost episodes, pilots, hell, even the rejected sketches for costumes for any show or movie ever made that strikes his geeky little heart's desire, his if he wants them, and they can be his, _overnight express._ Age of the geek, y'all.

See, he was done waiting. The world has not been kind to little Alec, no-show daddy, OD'd mama, and alone at six. Thank God for Miss Leah- Jehovah's witness lady who had him in short term before he landed with Nana. Nana who'd whoop your ass for backtalk but whoop the other guy's ass more for dragging her baby into it. Nana who'd explain why it was rice and eggs for dinner the last five days of the month until the checks came on the first, who had to dress him in third-hand clothes and fifth-hand shoes - man, he grew tall, faster than she could keep up with, and shoes ain't cheap. Life gave him all the crap in the beginning, and the rest was going to be cake. Cake for Nana, cake for Miss Leah and the current brood of little suit wearing foster babies, and cake for him. Money and power, but no bullying, because he'd had that, too. How many black boys with his long hands you see playing the violin instead of handling the ball? That's right. He was doing what he wanted, taking care of what he cared about, and then- it got even better! This crew stumbled into his life and Alec Hardison was cooler than he knew was possible, being the hacker version of batman, striking terror into any bad guy with a pin number and an offshore account's life.

Done. Waiting.

Except for her. See, she moves like lightning, or a pretty blonde racehorse, all long legs and freaky grace, popping out of nowhere, above him, beyond him, like the angel of thieves, if angels weren't shy. Not that he looked. His Nana would smack his eyes straight outta his head for looking at girls the way he wanted to look at Parker, since Parker didn't want him looking at her like that. Not like he was being creepy- just- Parker didn't want anyone to look at her like "that". Girl was not romantically inclines. Didn't care, didn't want, and indifference was only a little better than outright rejection sometimes.

But while he was waiting for the crush to go away, he decided it was worth waiting to just see- just see if _maybe_ there would ever be anything beyond indifference. He was staying with this crew anyway, so what was the harm?

He waited to become an acquaintance, to get occasional eye contact, comments directed to him, not the wall, or the group as a whole. He waited for her to talk to him about her- not about the jobs.

It happened. So that was good and proper, and he was satisfied, right?

Wrong.

Damn. Thought he was done waiting.

See, it was confusing. Not that he was full of his own game and sense of style or anything, or busy flirting and doing things that were just nasty- unlike some long haired, punchy, grumpy, son of a something he could think of- but he thought there was interest. Not being vain, but when a girl makes out with you, repeatedly (okay, not often, but yeah, more than once!) and isn't shy about dropping her clothes around you, you get ideas. Ideas quickly shot down when the girl stabs a man with a fork for some pretty lame innuendo. Yeah. You better bet that slows you down.

But slow had an advantage, see, because then she did start talking to him. Not in big sentences and Hallmark moment stuff, but in little clues and hints. They bonded over foster care, and he told her he liked how she turned out. He told her he had her back. She had his. She said, sweet words, "You're my friend, Alec." You can't hack a heart. It's fiddly, like she said, you keep trying until you hear a click.

He'd been waiting for that click for four years, and he heard it one night after a very, very bad job.

"Archie likes you."

"Yeah? I'm glad, mama." It was like they were a couple without the dating or the sex or the love. Well, not the love you admit, not out loud, or to her. Damn. But there was something. Very, very _something._

"I like you, too." Blunt, and uncharacteristically nervous, not looking at him.

"I'm glad. I - you know how I feel, girl."

"I don't. I mean, I guess. I think I do, but no one ever… I never… I'm not good at feelings." Parker finally looked at him, baleful, frustrated eyes. "Sophie's giving me lessons."

"That's cool." He hastily reassured her. "Think of me as your own personal pretzel. Here whenever you want it."

"Oh, I want it. I'm just not sure - I- that it's fair to the pretzels. Like, if I want them, but then I take them home and they just sit while I eat all the cereal."

Hardison blinked. "Wait. We talking about actual pretzels?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Sorry! right. Hey, then, just you know… speaking as pretzel spokesperson, the pretzels will wait until you're done everything else you need to do. Until you're ready. Here when you want them- when you're ready for them." He added with a small smile on his usually open, expansive face. "I'll wait."

Then he heard the click. Didn't sound like the lock falling open or anything, but he still heard it under her words. "Nate's going to need time to deal with all the stuff in his head, almost turning into a murderer. We have time off. Instead of- instead of that thing you do where you try to find me while I go somewhere? Wanna come with me?" The last words came out in a jumble, her face tight, fists clenched, eyes on the verge of squeezing shut.

"Yeah, girl! Lets tear it up! Tokyo, Paris, Rome, Dubai! We deserve a break."

She slipped his hand into hers with a sigh.

Three weeks later, after he vomited at the base of the Eiffel Tower and made her promise to give him a harness and tall building free weekend, she slipped her hand into his and tugged. Tugged him away from his room, down towards her own lavish-and-paid-for-with-a corrupt-CEO's- credit card- suite.

"Parker, Parker, I'm all- nasty and sweaty and I might even have peed my pants a little bit when that- that thing caught that pigeon, right in front of my face and man, I thought I was-" He wanted it to be perfect. He wanted to wait.

"Shhh. There's a shower in my room. And a hot tub with rotating jets and sauna features, actually. You can get cleaned up and… sometimes sweaty is sexy. And I'm sorry about the pigeon." She kept pulling until he stopped babbling.

"I wanted the-" He stopped short before the words "first time to be perfect" made an appearance. What if she just wanted to hang in her room, not his?

"You don't want…" She trailed off, lost.

"I want whatever you do, Baby. I promise. But I wanted to make everything about our trip perfect and special so…" He waved vaguely at himself, then her door, now only a few feet away.

Parker brightened, the thousand watt genuine smile that was so rarely seen gracing her face. "Oh. That's okay then."

She yanked him off his feet through her door, and he fell into the wall in a very manly fashion, thank you very much. "Wh- huh?" He said masterfully. "Hey- uh- Parker, whoa!" She's dropping clothes and rigging faster than he can avert his eyes, and damn, that is _fast_.

"Sorry, I should have asked, can I get in the shower with you? I'm not really sweaty, but I don't think I want to be too far away from you. Or we can go right to the hot tub, it's a lot bigger. But no bubbles. I poured bubble bath in a hot tub once. It's so awesome, like bubble world, or something, but I don't want to deal with managers tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Just room service."

All the hints were there. Fast and furious and too big to ignore, but it's _Parker,_ and he couldn't afford to screw it up, because he'd been waiting too. damn. long. "You can come in with me, sure. We can do the tub. I like the tub." He'd never been in one with someone else. Especially not someone he loves, who would literally die for him, and vice versa.

It was the easiest thing in the world to let her fingers undo buttons and zippers, and feel her lips on his, and feel her skin on his- so much skin, so much all over, and he wanted to cry because he was so happy, but he thought that might confuse her. "I love you."

Shit. That might confuse her, too, but he couldn't take it back.

She was quiet but it didn't mean she was unhappy. She was sinking like a platinum mermaid into the water, unabashedly staring up at him with glowing eyes and something sparkling on her cheeks. "Good. 'Cause I wanted to make love. Never have before."

It isn't a full declaration of love, but it's a physical demonstration, with the meaning behind it, exactly how Parker would give him her heart, and the body along with it.

He sank into her arms, and into her kiss, and gasps when they sink into each other about an hour later, warm and damp, now on silky sheets.

It was worth waiting for.

* * *

Parker waits. She waits because she's pretty sure she doesn't want to give this to anyone. It's been stolen and taken, and hurt. Yeah, yeah, metaphorically speaking, she means her heart, but physically speaking, she means that too. And she didn't have a fork handy the first half dozen times. She's waiting because she never planned to get close to anyone, she liked working alone, and then, crap, she out-thiefed herself. She stole someone's heart. And she didn't know how to put it back.

She waits for Hardison to realize his crush is her ruse, that they have very different interpretations of anything physical that transpired. She waits for him to decide she's crazy, or too skittish, or too silent, and not worth wanting.

She waits in vain. She waits with growing fear and frustration, because- because Hardison is a hacker, and you can't hack a heart- but he's the best. And he wormed into hers. Now she has this feelings virus, and it's mostly about him. Or girls around him. She breaks glasses in a fit of this hot, ouchie thing called jealousy.

She wanted to wait until this thing ran its fruitless course, but she can't. If she waits- someone else will take the first person she's cared about in years and years, and she suddenly can't act fast enough. She calls Hardison to her side and waits for her confession of feelings to pour out.

Parker admits she has feelings. For a snack food. She waits for Hardison to get confused, or offended, and leave. Instead, he smiles. He gets it. His quiet declaration that the pretzels will be there for her whenever she wants them sends another wall down in her heart.

Parker waits for him to realize that she can't be too physical, or too open, or even very talkative. She waits for him to demand more. When he doesn't, Parker finds a new kind of waiting happening. Waiting for just the right moment, so she can let him in. Waiting to be his friend, and then his more-than-friend.

She doesn't care about waiting to be his lover. She tells herself at some point Hardison will present the issue, and she will follow through, or smack him away. She will not stab him. Or smack him too hard. She tells herself that actually it's not a big deal. He's seen her naked a couple times, and sex is just naked and touching. She had her shame stripped out of her. She knows that's a lie. Her modesty might have vanished, but not her feelings about what surrounded it.

Parker waits until she's sure she can't get hurt by him. Not physically, not of his own free will. Rappelling accidents are not going to count against him, after all he's an amateur. She waits until she knows that he cares for her, and stunningly, she cares for him too. She's just waiting for the click…

It's in Paris. He jumped off the Eiffel Tower, because she asked him to. It's her rush. He just looks kind of sick. And in fact, when he got on solid ground, he _was_ sick, right in front of a group of elegantly dressed old women who screamed for the police. They ran back to their hotel, where they have a private floor, but two separate suites, still half in their gear. Hardison has been terrified, sickened, threatened with police, and he's ruined the new black sneakers he just bought in London. And he's apologizing about it, and suddenly Parker feels the vault inside her pop, the hacker cracked the gazillion digit rotating code around her heart.

Parker thinks she's done waiting. Nothing can ever be as wonderful as knowing you love someone when they're this icky and they still look beautiful, make you feel beautiful, and safe, and happy… Making love is going to be amazing.

It is.

But… she wants to say _it_. She wants to tell him in words, like he tells her. It's so easy for him, and she feels a little ashamed that she can't be as strong as he is. She can scale seventy stories with a smile, and he once screamed at a loose thread assuming a spider had crawled on his arm. She is superior in bravery, right? So she can do this.

Yet she doesn't. She has to wait until she knows about true bravery, the kind where you make the jump, knowing there is no such thing as a harness for your heart. She knows how his face will light up when she finally can tell him with actual words, and she knows he will wait with her until the time is right. 'Cause they think they're worth it.

* * *

"I'm… _waiting_. I haven't given up. You two go back to whatever you were doing, and can you try to remember to take your coms out this time?" Eliot shoos the blonde and brown couple out of his kitchen with a flick of his knife that reminds them that Eliot has bested the Butcher of Keiv, but no one has ever beaten the Brewpub Chef of Portland.

"Eliot, man, we's just trying-"

Another flash of steel and a growl of "Dammit, Hardison, I'm prepping for sixty covers! Two hours before dinner rush! Move!"

"We gone, man." Hardison backs up in defeat, but returns to retrieve Parker as she tries to swipe some of the awesome marble rolls their aggressive friend produces. "You crazy, mama? You wanna try to hang onto the ledge of some big ass building with only eight fingers?"

Parker looks intrigued as a roll materializes seemingly from nowhere and ends up in her mouth. "Actually, I-"

The unintelligible snarl from the chef cuts off her sentence, his friends take the hint and Eliot is finally left alone. Well, alone with three other line cooks, a bartender, and some waitstaff. That's plenty alone these days, for a man who once kept himself sane in solitary confinement in an unknown Irani prison for five straight weeks.

That's part of why he's waiting.

Eliot is waiting until he knows he needs someone. Someone for real, for permanent, someone more than a friend, family. He was alone for a long time, and he liked that. A monster shouldn't be near people.

He was waiting until he was done being a monster. Being a hitter, being muscle, was a step up. A monster with restraint. A restrained monster, who needs those restraints in place, never work _with_ someone, always work alone, keep all your contacts casual, all your relationships about charm and sex, not that he's ungentlemanly. He loves women. He admires them, and he values them, and he always makes it perfectly clear it's not about a relationship, it's about a very good time. That's why he has to wait. He doesn't want to hand someone sweet and steady a broken up, mashed up, monster's heart.

He waits until someone chips away a little sliver in the stone. There's always a soft spot for kids and few certain old friends, but nothing else. No _one_ else. If people get close, they'll meet the killer, see the blood on his hands, and either they will run, or he'll hurt them. He won't even try.

So it's the first kindness the universe has shown him since he stopped killing, to give him a band of broken people, who also work alone, who are pretty tough, or pretty shrewd, who all know how to run. Eliot was waiting until he felt some measure of safety, to try again.

Eliot finds out the hard way that people are time consuming. Helping people feels great. Keeping four people, just four, safe from everything, including him- feels _amazing._ Also tiring, annoying, infuriating… it's a long list and at first most of the adjectives on it are not flattering.

He has to wait until he respects Nate's addiction to eradicating bad guys as much as he hates his addiction to control.

He has to wait until he can forgive Sophie for trying to con them, for trying to "program" him, and trying to make them sit though every bit part in every small theater company she lands a role with. He has to learn that she's got plenty to get forgiven for, but she's also the most patient, slowest to anger, and the quickest to forgive others.

He has to wait until Hardison is not just this tall urge to punch. He waits until he's quietly amazed at what that man can do with a smart phone and a desire to stick his tongue out at the law, then what that man can do with a violin, or even a smile and no concept of how scared he should be. He waits until he knows that Hardison is a geek, but he's the coolest geek he ever met, and he's his best friend. He's his unlikely brother, after he lost all of his brothers, both those that bled red and those who bled green.

He has to wait until Parker is not simply twenty pounds of crazy, but about 110 of nerves, tenacity, and broken. He loves that once he realizes it. That they can be broken together. That she's more broken than he is, in different ways, but she can still recover. She's still an innocent in some tiny ways, and he can still protect that part of her. He gets back the little sister he lost, and maybe this makes up for all the lives he cut too short. Maybe. A little.

He has to wait until he knows for sure.

* * *

"It's just the three of us now, and we wondered if you were waiting until we leave, too. Because you know that's not going to happen. You said you'd stay with us until your dying day, and that means you need to be happy from now until you die, or you're just with us but you're miserable and lonely and that sucks." Parker plops herself down on the barstool after closing and slams his order ledger shut.

Even Eliot's remarkable reflexes barely allowed his hand to clear the ledger as she snaps it closed. "Parker! What the- I _just_ totaled that whole column and now -I - what?" Eliot is so tired and pissed he's reduced to sputtering.

Hardison is making himself at home behind the bar, pulling a pint of some seriously effed up beer he brews called "Orange Bunny"- hops and orange soda inspired the concoction, and it is truly awful to anyone with a working palette. But Hardison likes it because it's more sophisticated (he thinks) than slugging down sugar water all the time, and Parker just likes bunnies.

Drink now in hand, Hardison attempts to calm his friend, colleague, and head chef. "Look, El… we noticed you haven't been exactly 'social' these days and we just wanted to say, man," Hardison drinks before fixing his bro with what he hopes is a deep and sincere expression, "if you find the right girl, we'll love her too, no questions, no judging."

Eliot stares. Hardison is deadly earnest, Parker looks like she swallowed sour milk. Hardison coughs pointedly and she tries to smile. The resulting expression is… strange, even for Parker. "Okay. Did one of you buy brownies from that kid on the corner again? I told you, _I_ will make the damn brownies! That guy is lacin' 'em with something 'recreational and organically grown'. I'm gonna have to get him off the street."

"We're not high, we're concerned." Parker motions the hitter to stay behind the bar. "We want you to be happy."

"I'm happy. Or I would be if you found us a job I could do in the same time zone, and let me get back to ordering." He huffs and goes to open the ledger- which was _just_ there. Now it isn't. "Parker. Put it back." He rumbles warningly.

"Are you gay? Secretly gay? It's okay if you are, so are you?"

"No." He resigns himself to the conversation with a sigh, deciding it will be faster and possibly less painful this way.

"Were you secretly in love with me? Or Sophie?"

"God! No!" Eliot looks to Hardison for help, but the hacker shrugs.

"Then why no hook ups? You usually sleep with at least one hot girl we meet on jobs. There was that drug liberator dressed as a nun, and that pretty journalist from Wadata, and that girl with the handcuffs, and the-"

Eliot is too peeved to blush. "I get it Parker. I used to have more time, okay? I didn't cook every week or plan the specials, work on the menu…"

"Ahah, but you also had _four_ people to protect, not two, so it should all even out." Parker announced with her own brand of logic.

"Babe. We're not trying to push Eliot into random hook ups, remember?"

"I don't know why any of this is any of your damn business!" Eliot growls, but in an annoyed way, he's pleased they care. He thinks.

"Because we don't want you to wait until you're old and have erectile dysfunction to find true love." Parker hisses in a stage whisper.

Neither man can answer her. At first.

"This is so not how we rehearsed." Hardison moans softly, sliding a weary hand over his face. "Sorry, man."

"I'm … waiting. I didn't give up. I'm just- _waiting_." Eliot says with a sudden savage notation in his reclaimed ledger.

"What are you waiting for?" Parker has to know. "I know! For Damian Moreau to die, right?"

"No. Although, he's in a national prison with a ton of guys he helped put there. I'm surprised he's lasted this long." And truthfully, maybe that thought, as well as a few other thoughts tied to other very dangerous names, has crossed his mind.

"If it's that you're worried we won't like the girl-"

"You'd have to like her, yeah, if it got serious, but more importantly she has to like you. I'm not leaving this crew. If I don't have you guys…" He trails off. Opening up is easiest with them, and Nate and Sophie, but it's still not easy to begin with.

Parker frowns deeply. "We have to make the offer." She announces gravely to her lover.

"Eliot _does not_ want that, Parker." Hardison takes her elbow and shakes his head firmly.

"What don't I want?" Anything that has just made Hardison do his "very serious arm cross" that Parker seems determined to pursue has to be worth hearing.

Parker looks extremely resigned and somber, her eyes shift heavenward and her voice drags from her sternum up. "If you aren't looking for someone else because you are secretly in love with us, we can try a three-"

" _No_! Parker, finish the sentence and I will-" Eliot suddenly yanks the lever of Orange Bunny. Parker gasps, Hardison shouts "Hey!", but Eliot is relentless, an evil glint usually reserved for use on people who prey on children or frail and elderly in his eye. "Say it, and the whole batch- drained."

"I _told_ you, the man does not want _that_." Hardison turns and stalks to the end of the bar and back.

"Sorry! I take it back." Parker says contritely, and then leans forward as his hand leaves the pull, "We really didn't want to. Hardison said we shouldn't even offer, but I said we had to rule out every possibility."

"Why she couldn't let that one get ruled out _last_ , I do not know." Hardison tells the heavens, refusing to meet his heavily breathing colleague's eye.

"Somethin' wrong with _both_ of you…" Eliot glares and grumbles. "But I'm still glad you asked, I guess. Not the- _thing_ Parker just said, the other things. Caring." He huffs gruffly and skulks off to the kitchen, praying they wouldn't follow, and knowing that was one futile prayer.

He's right.

"Eliot, Eliot, is it because-" Parker is like a dog with a bone- or bunny with a carrot, and she will not leave the matter alone until she thinks she knows the answer, because she takes her role as the new team leader very seriously. And Nate solved things, so she has to solve things. Hardison's repeated reminders that you cannot "solve" falling in love- and they should know- on a timetable, fall on willfully deaf ears.

"If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

"Yes!" Parker bounces joyfully. Hardison mouths a "thank you" behind her shoulder and lifts his fist in brotherhood.

"Will you get rid of the damn composting bins in the kitchen, put them out back?" Eliot crosses his arms, broad shoulders rolling in a deliberate reminder that he is a powerful little bull of a man- and he's asking nicely, trading for a favor, when he could rip them out of the wall if he wanted.

"I _swear_." Hardison nods fervently.

He can't look at them when he speaks, so he goes to the stinking bins and starts unhooking them from the wall. "I don't know what I'm waiting for, exactly. I didn't give up. I'm not too old. I know it's dangerous and … that's why. For years, it was dangerous for any girl to be with me 'cause a lot of people want me dead, and I didn't know if I was a murderer or a monster, or just a good guy who got very, very lost. Asking any woman to put up with that- it's wrong and I don't need anymore wrong on me."

"Oh, El…" Hardison goes to him, but Parker shushes him and pulls him back. She knows better than he does how you distance yourself to protect yourself- and others.

"That's different now. If someone wants to come at me, they'll come at me. If they want to come at me hard- they'd go through someone I - love. And they've had the opportunity for six years now." He pauses, and by their silence, he knows they get it. "People might have tried, but I have a team to keep those people safe. I help, but it's all of us. If I met a girl, I know you'd do what we've always done for the team. I'm not more or less scared of someone coming at me through someone I care about, I just know the security is the best there is, and for six years- we've kept each other safe."

Another long silence. Finally broken by Hardison's choked sounding, "Age of the geek, baby. I got- I got whole drawers full of aliases and passports and anything she'd need. Just gimme a girl to attach 'em to, it's done."

"I ain't done. Waited out the monsters out there- and in here." He taps his head once. It's true to a certain extent. He is no longer waiting to see the young man with clean hands, a flag on his shoulder, and God in his heart when he looks in the mirror. He sees a man in his prime, with a load on his shoulders, and a quiet contentment mixed with the restlessness in his heart, and he knows that's presentable, something he can ask a woman to receive. A warrior's heart, scarred and broken up, but the monsters don't own it anymore. "I'm gonna be okay." He nods, mostly to himself. "Now I have to wait for her."

"So there _is_ someone?" Hardison prods gently.

"I hope so." His voice goes reflective without even trying, and if he weren't so tired, and it wasn't so late, and they hadn't almost scared the shit out of him with that other thing they almost said, he probably wouldn't say what he's about to say. "I hope there's someone out there, who will put up with my past. That I can tell what I've done, and what I used to do, and the good outweighs the bad to her. She can have dirty hands too, as long as she's tryin' to keep 'em clean now." He smiles to himself. "She has to like pick ups and country- but she can like pretty things like Sophie and expensive things like Parker. We can put up with each other. Has to like kids, but doesn't have to have any or want any of her own. Has to like good food, but I don't mind if she can't cook." Eliot's eyes go momentarily crinkled and his lips quirk, and Hardison can practically feel some kind of nasty thought he doesn't really wanna know about radiating from his buddy's brain. "Helps if she has a thing for scars."

"Stop there. Must put up with whatever you and your depraved mind an' short male stripper body can come up, move on." Hardison silences him with both hands raised.

Eliot snorts at the description, eyebrow raised challengingly, "You sure _you're_ not the one who's secretly-"

"Stop! You're both cute, you're both secure enough in your cuteness to appreciate other people's cuteness, now get back to the girl." Parker is mentally cataloging all these desirable traits like she's planning a heist and ticking off all the security features. Eliot's dream woman is going to be a tall order, but she'll find her.

"She has to forgive who I was. Love what I am- and who I come with." Eliot turns to face them completely, hands empty. He looks tough but somehow- vulnerable at the same time, with only a hint of a smile, and something missing in his eyes. "If she's out there, I'll find her. I said _I'll_ find her, Parker." He raises one finger in warning. "I don't care if I have to wait another month or another decade. When I find her, I'll know it was all worth it."

That they understand. That they know intimately. They nod solemnly. They'll be there, all waiting together. And when at last they have every piece of their family puzzle slipped in place? The picture it creates?

Well worth the wait.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. My first ever Leverage piece, and I hope you'll be kind to it._

 _Sweetprincipale_


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